A Marquis and his Bard
by Iyrsiiea
Summary: Marquis Rislain has a great deal on his plate. Trying to restore Serault's honor after his accursed predecessor Shamed it is not an easy task. But perhaps he has an unexpected helper...
1. Chapter 1

The Marquis of Serault was not having a pleasant day.

First thing that morning, there was a theft at the Glassworks. The thief was found and dealt with, but the incident left the glassworkers on edge. Next, a herald of some lord or other came bearing long-winded tales of his time in Val Royeaux and some shiny bauble meant to impress him. Rislain considered himself a man of learning, and was not so easily swayed by such blatant attempts at flattery. Even so he had to respond to the gift somehow so he sought to outdo the foolish man by gifting him with several pieces of the finest Serault glasswork, silencing the whispers of Serault's lacking finances. The baffled look on the herald's face eased the pain of parting with such expensive products.

Now, as the sun began its descent, Rislain found himself surrounded by courtiers, minor nobles and other tedious individuals. He was sure they had some good reasons to be here, but he hadn't heard a single one yet.

He wished nothing more than to return to his study. The discreet messenger he'd sent out yesterday had returned, and he was eager to read what his porcine-inclined friend thought of his assertions on Arl Thomain's rule…

"My, but don't _you_ look bored, your Grace."

A man slid out from the crowd gracefully to stand beside Rislain. He was a bard, if he remembered correctly, one who tended to travel and yet always returned here to Serault. Rislain was familiar with his uncle, an elderly knight who was much more knowledgeable than he made himself out to be, but he knew little of the bard himself. He was tall and lithe, with a well kept beard and charming smile.

"Perhaps," he reluctantly admitted, "but that is the way of life for those such as I. We brave the depths of boredom for the sake of the realm."

The bard's smile grew. "Ah, yes, 'tis the noble's burden." He looked out into the crowded hall. "They are not so burdened, these fine folk. That fellow there," he gestured to a balding man that Rislain vaguely recalled as a herald of a nephew of his, "has an almost uncanny interest in goats! And she," a minor lady of little beauty, "has been balancing three lovers!"

Rislain wondered if the bard's ramblings had a point. "How… interesting."

"Indeed! Of course, such upstanding folk could not _possibly_ be spies, or assassins! Why, Maker strike me down for even thinking that perhaps one of them could _possibly_ be a _maleficar_!"

_What… _is _this? Is he warning me?_

Rislain searched the crowd himself. True, he knew very few of the attendants of this little gathering, but to suspect them of such on the word of one man?

But that one man was a _bard_. A bard with blood ties to a friend of his, and no reason to turn on Serault now.

_Well, better safe than sorry, or dead. I was tiring of this anyway. _

With a few murmured words to the staff and guards, the little party was broken up swiftly and without incident. Rislain caught a glimpse of the bard as he left. The man gave him a cheeky wink.

He would have to watch out for that one.


	2. Chapter 2

Rislain spoke to the bard again three days later.

He had been holding court, dealing with rumors of apostates and mutterings of discontent. The bard was standing off to the side, at his usual place near his uncle. When Rislain passed a light sentence upon a peasant that made jests of his parentage, the bard tugged his moustache and smiled.

Not that Rislain would ever admit to noticing that.

As the assemblage dispersed and Rislain headed back to his much-beloved study, he was intercepted by the bard, his smile light but his eyes piercing.

"That was well done, your Grace. I have met so many nobles that lack a sense of humor, to finally see one able to take a joke is refreshing."

Rislain was of half a mind to dismiss the man sharply and move on, but then he recalled the party and the well-worded warning.

_I may as well hear what he has to say this time._

"I am always glad to be of service to my people. Was there something you wished to speak to me about?"

Something shifted in the bard's smile, and Rislain had the feeling that he had passed some sort of test.

"Yes, in fact. Have you ever heard of a group called the Black Dogs, your Grace?"

He shook his head.

"Well, you soon will. They've been spotted coming up the south road. A nasty bunch of bandits, them." His voice remained light, but the look in his eye grew sharper. "I've heard awful stories of their conquests. Told a few, too. Burnt villages, pillaged farms, raped women… very thorough, that lot."

The familiar mixture of worry and weariness settled onto Rislain's shoulders, a common feeling since his ascendance to the seat of the Marquisate. "Thank you for informing me of this. If you will excuse me, I must have a conversation with the head of the guard." A conversation consisting of "_Why did you not notice this earlier, you buffoon!" _and "_We must gather every guard available. _Yes, _I mean every guard!" _

"Ah," the bard spoke again, "a moment before you leave, your Grace?"

"Yes?" He asked brusquely. Rislain did owe the man, if his information was correct, but a lot had to be done, quickly.

"From what I've heard the leader of this group, while a brute, is somewhat reasonable. And partial to spiced wine."

Rislain slowly turned to look at the rather smug-looking bard, turned away, and shook his head slightly. _How do you even learn these things? _is what he wanted to ask, but instead what came out of his mouth was, "Why are you doing this?"

The bard grinned and bowed. "I am loyal to Serault… and her handsome Marquis."

If Rislain rushed to speak with his guard captain, seneschal and cook, he told himself it was because there were urgent matters to discuss and not because he was blushing.


	3. Chapter 3

Since the peacefully resolved incident with the Black Dogs a week ago, the bard had approached Rislain several times. Most of these visits were to make some witty commentary on the day's events. Other times, it was to offer a well-hidden hint or insight. Rislain grew used to these slightly insolent comments, even welcomed them. "A good ruler makes use of the tools he has available", as his pig-farming friend had once scribbled in the margins of a loaned book, and if the bard wished to make himself available then Rislain felt it would be rude to not make use of him.

The fact that the man was rather attractive had nothing to do with it at all.

This was such a day. After the day's deliberations had ended and the court disassembled, the bard approached with his usual wry smile. "Why, your Grace, you are an inspiration to us all. Serault's wealth has never been greater!" He leaned in slightly, voice sounding almost amused. "Of course, word is that the peasantry are thinking of revolt, and your peers are saying that you an incompetent ruler. But, what do _they_ know, anyways?"

Rislain cast the bard a dirty look. "I care as much for the opinions of the nobles as I do my horse's. As for the people… I will simply have to make some compromises." Pushing the glassworkers and laborers so hard was perhaps not the best thing he could have done, but the Divine's arrival was only four weeks away and Serault simply _had_ to be at her best if she was to have any chance of gaining her honor back.

The bard seemed satisfied with the answer. "True, true. Well, I suppo-" The man's gaze locked onto something behind Rislain's back, and the smile slid into a grimace. "Your Grace, watch out!"

Before Rislain could turn to see what had startled the bard so, he was being shoved to the ground. The sound of a blade piercing flesh and blood dripping on the floor echoed throughout the hall. Staggering to his feet, Rislain watched as his would-be murderer was grabbed by a pair of nearby guardsmen. The bard, bleeding heavily from a stab wound in the shoulder, looked unsteady on his feet. Rislain ordered a nearby servant to fetch his doctor, then turned to look at his attacker.

"Put him in the dungeons," he said to the guards grimly, "I wish to interrogate him later." _Best find out who ordered this before they send another assassin. _

A few moments after the prisoner was dragged away, Rislain's personal physician appeared. He huffed and clucked and otherwise acted as though treating the man who had saved his Marquis' life was a burden.

The bard, for his part, tried to wave the treatment away. "Really, your Grace, it isn't necessary! It is but a small wound, and the bandages will look so unattractive-"

"What is your name?" The Marquis interjected.

The bard blinked, startled. "Come again?"

Rislain was focused intently on the bard's face. "I wish to know the name of the man that I owe my life to."

"Beauregard," the bard said after a long moment.

Rislain smiled. "An apt name."

Later, when the mess was cleaned up and everyone had gone about their business, Rislain pulled his seneschal aside.

"You know of the bard, Beauregard? Should he ever indicate he wants something, wine, women, fine clothes, you are to insure he receives it promptly. If he asks why, tell him he has earned the favor of the Marquis."


End file.
